Three years ago, summer of 2016, I met a man who was tall, tan, the picture of health, wearing a Hawaiian type print shirt, perfectly groomed blonde hair and a wide smile. In the course of a four-week summer school session, we talked about a lot of things...the weather, kids, life and eventually stumbled onto the topic of childhood cancer. We found that we had something in common, we were both childhood cancer survivors. Specifically, we were both Hodgkin survivors. Todd was 4 years older than me. At age 11, he was diagnosed with Hodgkins. At age 12, I was diagnosed with Hodgkins. He could tell me his patient number at St. Judes (#4465). I was treated at St. Louis Children's Hospital. We had an immediate bond and innate understanding about a number of things. When I spoke with his sister yesterday, she indicated that Todd and I probably talked a lot about our common bond of having had pediatric cancer, but we really didn't talk much about that. We didn't talk about how we felt being that kid in the family that everything stopped on a dime for because of a diagnosis of Cancer. When his brother spoke at his service, he recounted the family traveling from Southeast Missouri to Memphis for his treatments at St. Judes. He prefaced his look into the family's journey by calling Todd an encourager, positive, a man of prayer, wanting a healthy life free of pain, and that "no matter how bad, don't quit." Then he spoke of the long drive to and from St. Jude with a container in the back seat for Todd to vomit in on the way home. This, from first-hand knowledge, is an unwelcome side-effect of Chemo which in the late 70's and early 80's we were not offered an anti-nausea. We talked about kids, what we thought was wrong with education, and more importantly why we continued to teach.
Each day was a gift from God, not a given.
If it is best for kids, we do it.
God has a plan for us. We may not understand His plan but we follow with faith.
We understood that at our ages, we were part of only 2,521 survivors in St. Judes Long-Term Follow-up study and that made our lives so much more important. On a larger scale, we were part of 14,361 original participants in the study. We understood that we were basically "lab rats" with our initial treatments being experimental and chose to continue to be "lab rats" with the belief that if we could make it possible for one child would not have to go through the hell that we had gone through. We understood that our adult lives were just as important to the research being done. We understood the possibility of our adult lives being statistical with infertility, chronic health conditions involving the heart and lungs, emotional health, memory, thinking, stroke, menopause, breast cancer, poor sleep, denial of insurance coverage, and continued medical costs. Ultimately, our unspoken goal in our lives was the same as St. Judes, to improve treatments to allow survivors to live longer with fewer treatment-related health issues.
Todd's Hodgkins returned at 19 and he returned to St. Judes. Not only did he beat this battle with Hodgkins, he began to be a consummate fundraiser and motivational speaker for St. Judes. He continued to encourage other children to continue their fight. I met his sister and mother in the hospital two days before he passed. When Dana took me to the ICU room and introduced me, Todd (on a ventilator) increased his breathing. I told him that I know that he knows I am here and that he just needed to relax and let the machines do their job. Karen, his sister, and I talked about my connection to Todd. We also talked about faith. When Karen spoke at his service, she spoke of Todd being a man of faith, that he loved to learn, that their mother called them "busybodies", and that he was all boy. She talked about how as a teenager Todd rededicated his life to God. His brother recounted how with this second diagnosis, Todd moved more so into the role of a motivational man. Todd lived big and wanted "normal." Humbly, Todd became much more defiant and believed that quitting was never an option. His brother touched on how cancer molds you, pushes you to be your best, and that this was a path set forth by God. Todd modeled how tough we can be, with faith, never quitting and never giving up.
Cancer does mold you. It becomes an integral part of your being. I was once told by someone that I wore my Cancer like a badge. That comment hurt because it wasn't a badge that I ever wanted to wear, or to even earn as a 12-year-old girl. I have had people tell me that they are sorry that I have had cancer when I tell them. My response has always been that I am not because it is my path that God made for me and it has made me the person that I have become and continue to evolve into.
Todd's Sig Ep fraternity brother talked of the man that I had come to know. The man that had never met a stranger and when he listened to people talk, it had nothing to do with him but was all about that person telling their story. Todd finished college and became an Industrial Technology instructor along with coaching football. His passion was motivating kids, through football and the classroom, to push themselves to their limits by modeling the same for himself. He continued to raise money for St. Judes throughout his career.
At age 24, I was released from the care of Dr. Theresa Vietti at St. Louis Children's Hospital. I wasn't released solely because I had been in remission for 12 years, but because Dr. Vietti was retiring. It was then that my medical files, with my permission, were handed over to a long-term follow-up study in Wisconsin or Michigan which was eventually absorbed by St. Judes.
At age 37, I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer and the first place that I went to search for information was the Long-Term Follow-Up Study for Pediatric Cancer Survivors at St. Judes. I found that I was part of a group of women that when we reached the 20 to 25-year mark of survivorship that had a 99% rate for Thyroid Cancer when having had radiation treatments. The only other group to have a higher rate of Thyroid Cancer were the children of Chernobyl. When I went to my childhood home to tell my parents, my mother responded with the comment that the doctors had told them that this was a possibility. My response was a "really?!?" This was not something that could have been shared with me. It was extremely different from being a child to being an adult being diagnosed with cancer.
Todd was diagnosed at age 44 and had one of his kidney's removed. His response was that he had another kidney, but he was also showed no signs of giving up, determination, relentless, and was called a "modern day gladiator." Being a fan of the tv show Scandal, the phrase "Gladiator" has huge symbolism to me.
Summer of 2017, Todd was the Assistant Principal for Summer School working with his close friend and mentor. They were working to fine-tune a team of teachers that walked to the same beat. We were a team that believed if it was best for kids, we do it. Most of us had been utilizing differentiated instruction before it became a buzzword. Most of us believed that summer school was not about punishing the kids but about letting them know that someone believed in them and that yeah it was going to be tough and we were going to give tough love but we could get there together.
Fall of 2017, our Gladiator was dealt a huge hit. He was diagnosed with Stage 4 Cancer. He finally had achieved so many things in his life. A career to be extremely proud of, on his way to his Doctorate degree, and was planning to marry the love of his life.
This summer, I was blessed to be given an opportunity to teach for this amazing team of administrators. When we held our orientation day, it was the first time that I had seen Todd since the summer before. I saw a man that was fighting for his life. My chemo hero, my Gladiator was not going down without a fight. For two and a half weeks, Todd came to school early and left late. Would go for treatments and doctor visits as needed and return to school. He went from walking with a cane to pushing a sit walker. The middle of the third week, Todd drove himself to school and couldn't drive himself home. Todd and I lived in the same small town, 9 blocks apart. Our houses were built in the same year. For the last seven days of Summer School, I would pick up Todd and bring him home. The rides to school were filled with conversations about education and what was wrong. It was stated by a friend of Todd’s at the service that Todd believed that the problem with society was that nobody wanted to work anymore. Todd and I had that conversation too. We both believed that when certain generations or people were faced with a challenge and that it was going to be work to achieve something, then they would walk away taking the path of least resistance. We both believed that the harder it was, the more challenging it was, then the sweeter the rewards. I believe that we came by this mentality because of having been diagnosed as kids with Cancer. We didn’t see any other choice but to fight, to fight to the bitter end. Taking a path of least resistance just simply was not an option. We talked a great deal about the school district that we both taught in. We came from small, farming communities to the big suburban school district that had more students attending the schools we taught in than the population of the communities we grew up in. We both struggled with charts and graphs and data and AP courses and refusing to become “yes” men just simply to avoid the uncomfortable conversations. We talked about the difference in the administrators that we had both worked for and how different our experiences were. He was able to admit that he could see how not just our ranking coworkers were in survival mode, but even those ranking above us were in survival mode. It made him sad that people, good people, who went into education to teach, to mentor, were being strangled by constraints of a system that no longer lives by the philosophy of doing what is best for kids. Our rides home from school were for Todd to sleep and let his pain meds take the edge off before he gets home. When we got to his house, I would help him out of the car with Dana right by us. Behind the wrought iron gate was a small, fluffy black dog - Star and a large, black predominantly Lab - Damon. They watched us intently waiting for their dad to get to the other side of the gate to welcome him home. The last day that I drove Todd to and from school was the hardest day. I knew that God had given me an opportunity to serve a fellow survivor, of which this had not been the first and I am fairly certain it won’t be the last. Dana was so gracious and thankful. Just like the previous days, her eyes were full of tears and love when she looked at Todd and watched him inspect the roof of the house. Being the perfectionist that he is about construction, he could point out what he would have done differently and what still needed to be done. Dana reassured him that all that was to be done to this point had been and that all the other things would be done. That morning on the ride to school Todd told me that the Cancer was everywhere including his bones. As a survivor, I understood what that meant medically and I also understood what that meant for Todd. Him saying it out loud and, it could have been to anyone so much closer to him than me, to me meant that he had an understanding of the path God was taking him on. It was at that moment that my heart broke. The Gladiator was gallantly putting into place all the possible pieces he could to make sure that the love of his life was taken care of on this Earth in his absence. The picture that accompanies this post was taken on that last day of school before we headed home and yes, he knew that I had used a filter to put a flower in his hair. I felt it was fitting considering he wore a number of Hawaiian print-type shirts.
When I left Todd and Dana, he was sitting on his walker/chair with Star on his lap talking to her and Damon walking in circles around them occasionally whacking Todd with his tail. The next day, The Gladiator and his damsel got their marriage license. On Sunday, they were married in the chapel at St. Luke’s Hospital between the ER and ICU. Todd was admitted to the hospital with continued complications from his treatments for the Cancer. On 5 July, Todd asked to be intubated. On 10 July, I visited Todd in the hospital. I gave Dana a copy of the anonymous poem “What Cancer Cannot Do…” and she pinned it on the board in his small ICU room. It was not how I wanted to remember my Gladiator. For about 5 minutes, I was alone with Todd. With my hand on his arm, like I had done on the way home when he was asleep so that he would know he wasn’t alone, I reminded him that we don’t make deals with the Devil. What we do is to talk to God, to look to him for guidance and to walk with Him down the path that He has set for us.
12 July 2018, The Gladiator went home to his heavenly Father. I know in my heart that had it been his choice, he would still be here with his beautiful wife.
In closing, Todd’s childhood friend and a pastor, summed up what Todd truly left with us on this Earth… the definition of Faith.
- Faith is not a belief that you get what you want. It is the understanding that you get what God wills. God is in control. Trust Him and He will direct your path.
- Be honest with God, keeping open the lines of communication.
- Proceed without answers because life is messy, complicated and hard.
